Thursday, December 13, 2018

For The Holidays


Every year, I face the end of the year trying to be SANE when everything plays with my head.

My ReSolve: I had the bariatric surgery in October. Since then I have had to analyze my food intake and try to understand why I eat (overeat) and how I can stop. I have missed many foods, but I know there are some I can no longer put into my mouth, because if I do, I will never stop. 
Harsh reality, that one is.

For this Christmas, I want everything to stop being so HARD. I want things to have a Happy Ending.
I want my house to stop needing repairs when I can least afford it. I want friends in my life to stay and share the journey, not show up every now and then, do an act of kindness and then disappear. I want my children to be happy.

I do have a compliment to give to myself. I hurt less due to eating better, exercise, building up my endurance, and finding a balance.

So why does depression come for the holidays? Because, I fear, it always has. 
In my family of birth, Christmas wasn't very happy. I didn't have the snow globe ideal.
So I feel my depression.  For me, it could be The 12 Days of Getting Through.

Be strong my fellow Depression Heads, we are all in this together. 


  My Wire Mesh Christmas Tree  CBJJ
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#community  #take a moment  #the holidays are hard  #art  #this Christmas  #coping

#quilter1111  



Friday, November 9, 2018

Bariatrics: Discussing your Depression

It use to be I had depression that I hid. It was beating me up inside and there wasn't a way to properly deal with it. It effected my health, my job, my confidence, my weight, my mornings filled with pain and my need to sleep as much as I could because I thought I needed it.

Recently, I had RNY. This bariatric surgery was long coming because I always thought I could lose the weight. I was somewhat successful because I was down 60 pounds before the surgery and another 30 during the first month. There is a different person that I see in the mirror now. I was shy to say I was getting the surgery and so I told very few friends.

What I didn't expect was how having this surgery would give me a flashback to the old depression I had imagined was long gone. In all the seminars, consultations with dieticians, therapists, and educators, none of them ever said anything about depression. Unfortunate.

I did meet with the PA one month after surgery and told him how I had gone into a nose dive with my depression. It was at about two weeks after surgery when I started to feel dark, when the things I enjoyed were distasteful and I regretted the good things in my life. I even wanted to throw away some of the things I had created, and that is hard to believe. The doctor said I was experiencing "normal" hormonal issues. Wait- I am not talking a simple mood swing here! I know what a crash means and I was heading there.

So here is the question, why don't medical people talk about the depression part too? I was feeling so bad and somewhat desperate to get out of my funk I called my therapist, had a great session. I felt drain but relieve afterwards.

Please remember to discuss your depression with the doctors you see. Make them realize that for us our brains matter too.

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#bariatrics and  depression  #fighting fat  #artist with depression   #creative life  #making it with depression  #bariatric experiences





Monday, October 22, 2018

You Never Leave Me

Depression, you are a beast.

You NEVER completely leave me.

In the early fall you bring on the bitterness of gray skies, of days without mercy.

You ANGER me.
You tarnish my courage and take my happiness away.

It isn't fair how you are watching for me to succumb to you. You are a pungent odor, an unkind gesture, the lonely old man in the corner. Never mind how you drag me into your darkness.

I don't want you anymore, you can't shatter me.

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 #conversationsaboutdepressions  #depressionandart  #artist  #darkside

Saturday, September 1, 2018

Telling A Secret

When is it time to let go of a secret that still hurts you mentally?


 I had held a secret about something I did for YEARS. Nearly 30 years to be exact.

Although I still don't want to reveal it here, I want to tell you how I made the decision to talk about it.. It bothered me that it continued to hurt me. Was it my bad judgement? How would I have stopped it? I was a different person then.

Don't tell the wrong person.
I wasn't about to tell someone who would judge me, or confuse me with their own criteria of
"How Could I? I am too sensitive to tell casual friends or the person that was a part of my secret.

I didn't realize I was making a list of who I would never tell. But I did.

My secret appeared in my mind over and over and often -- frequently.

The person I finally shared it with provided me a safe place. He even handed me a trash can for my tissues. I broke into tears, and when I opened my eyes, he was crying too.

He responded by telling me that the "secret" was a "real thing" and nothing to feel bad  about or  judged.

Thank you for letting me find a safe person to tell my secret to. 


Mother and Child                      Gustav Klimt

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#emotional   #my secret  #telling a secret    #feeling safe

Monday, August 13, 2018

Does My Dog Have Social Anxiety?


I don't know if it is possible, but I swear my dog has social anxiety.

EVERY TIME I take her to the vet, my beloved dog turns into another being. Today, I needed help in and out with her. She is way too much for me to handle. 

At home all is calm, sweet Peaches sleeps about 22 hours a day. She is the perfect dog for me.
She "wiggles" when she needs to go out or wants her dinner. If she is really excited to be feed she leaps a little like Snoopy might do. She also barks when the mail comes, she goes nuts for about 3 minutes and then calmly brings me the mail in her mouth, one letter at a time. Otherwise, I have a pretty boring dog.

But on annual vet days, my Peaches is a freaky mess. It started when she sees another dog going pee outside the office. The owner, a woman has a very small dog. Her boys flip their arms, jump up and want back into their van just as I am parking.

My dog sees all of this and it starts a chain reaction of what I can call Dog Madness. I even have to call the staff to come and get her out of my car. She is reluctant a first, but a calm voice telling her momma is coming too makes her leap out of my car. They take her to the room while I am checking in and handing over a 3-day old poop sample that I am not 100% sure is hers because the poop was picked up during a run at a school near me. Imagine my shock when I realize the poop test costs $30.00 and it might be another dog's sample?

By the time I get to the room the assistant has that look of a new parent with a screaming child. She runs to me despite having a leash and a choke chain on. Darn dog, do I really have to claim her?
This doesn't stop even though both assistants disappear and I try to talk her down.

Surprise when the vet eventually appears. He has tricks and offers her treats to pacify her. She always wants treats, so I thank him for having that trick. One shot later, and the process begins again with help needed to leave this appointment. All the other dogs represent another smell and good time at the vets. She whines and barks the whole time I am paying and I'm still thinking I hope that was her dog poop I am paying to be analyzed!

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#dogs   #going to the vet   #dog behavior  #dog ownership  #bad dog   #getting a rabies shot

Thursday, August 9, 2018

The Reason for My Silence

I know my depression still lingers. I feel this way because as my situation becomes more out of control, I begin to feel unable to speak. Currently my life is a balance of my art work and DEALING with medical issues for me.
I have been working on getting bariatric surgery. It is hard enough to make your brain work for 
you. How to I feel about getting my organs rearranged? What if, after this change, I am still an emotional eater? For all the people who say Great! Wow you are going to feel so much better! You will be happier! I want to say, how do you know? It is my body going through this and I don't even know how I am going to feel!
Not to mention the strain of Test 1, 2 and 3, then looking inside my body, (ugh) NO! I didn't really want to see my heart beating on the screen. Let's just call it GOOD. Then the waiting because the office assistance don't call you back. They say they need a letter saying I am cleared for surgery. Looking at the results from the radiologist isn't good enough. OMG. Isn't that the job of the radiologist?? No, they want someone to pin it on if things go badly. This is the hardest, pain in the butt surgery I have ever had. I had screws and metal plates put in my foot, and the surgery was easy- peasy. I just had one confident doctor. 
Now, it takes three or more doctors to mess with me. Yes, this is straining my mood. It turns out the medical professionals had their right hand up  while the left was making a crossed fingers gesture with the left. They just sort-of, kind-of took the pledge to be committed to healing the patient. 
I am not even going to talk about their insurance specialist, who yelled at me, "where did you get that idea?" and then sweetly, says, "okay you're right about what the doctor said to you."  Mouth off first, then think later, lady?
Congratulations to me for getting a major body of work done.
50 Quilts of mine are now on display at Sinclair until September 28th in Mason, Ohio.
Last Friday, I was in Art In The City, where I created 8 art quilts,
Nearly a life size fairy, a three foot lightening bug, and sat at a booth to sell my quilts. Thanks to all of these venues who asked to showcase my work!
Now the truth is. I was exhausted by the time all of this creative work was done. 
I confess I don't like DEADLINES, even on my own art.
So I didn't complain, I was numb, silenced, and secretly thinking never again.  
After it was all over on Saturday and Sunday, I stayed in my pajamas, making a quilt for enjoyment. The very next day, I received an email telling me I had sold a small quilt and would I be interested in creating something else to replace it?
Good wishes, good vibe-- this is what I have always wanted, but it might be too much now.  Allow me to move at my own rate, slower now due to my pains, but heck, I earned each one of these pains over a lifetime. 







Friday, July 20, 2018

Depression, Anxiety, and Knowing YOU are Mentally Better




Recently I met a woman who labels herself as MANIC and an EMPATH.
I really hadn't know anyone manic before, although, I may have had some suggestions or opinions I kept to myself.

I am not qualified to label and I don't. I just have to say these two emotional of being manic and an empath do interest me. I understand a little better how her mind goes from focused to unfocused. Her voice changes from soft to REAL loud. Her mannerisms change from being in control to that of a child wanting to be noticed or to a child full of delight and VOCAL.

She may be too much for me one day, but I invited her for dinner. She was late, and I didn't think she was going to come, but she did. She ate with me and we talked for several hours. We both vented our feelings.

She said she was an empath and that she enjoyed helping others, listened to them and allowed them to talk about what they needed to.  Me: Isn't that called conversation?

I was called a healer recently, and I denied it. I would never say I have any special powers since I am just me and I have never recognized anything emotional/promising/supportive/ about me.
Yet when it happened again, it made me wonder.

My experience is with My Guardian Angel ANNIE. I am also into the power of 11:11.

Can you have healing powers without even knowing it?  Am I too sensitive?

It  is hard for me to IGNORE when there is so MUCH out there to PROCESS.

I pick up on things many do not or can not. I am me.

The world has a place for all of us.  We can co-exist.


Monday, July 16, 2018

Fighting for Yourself

The way I see it, there is a lot of irony in our world.  Perhaps I will mis-use this term, like the song
"Isn't it Ironic?" but there examples every where.

Ordinary People and Our President.

Not being hyper political today--but I grew up thinking the Russian Government were bad people.
We had a "Cold War" going on for years.  Today-- Trump was acting very chummy with the Russian Prez, the same one known to kill people, spy, and poison those who do not conform to his direction.

Yet, just as bad, on a one on one basis,  I can tell you I have met the Nurse from Hell! Although the doctor said he would do what he could to move up my next surgery date, his insurance assistant chewed me out on the phone stating "WHO told you that?"  Ahh- my doctor.

A couple of weeks later she called me back and said "Despite my pessimism, YOU were approved for surgery."  I wish I still had faith in people. Sigh.

Makes my head hurt. Yes, the same one fighting depression.




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#Trump     #bad nurses   #depression    #fight for yourself

Wednesday, May 23, 2018

Shopping for Brown

As you know I am an art quilter. I love it and I've been doing it since 2005, so you can imagine the stash of fabric that I have.  

However, I have very little brown fabric, so, I set out to establish my range of good browns.

Over the last two days, I have been shopping for calming brown and spicy brown, coffee brown and cinnamon brown, tree bark brown and dog fur brown.  Wish me luck!


Image result for shades of brown



Source: Google Images 

Thursday, April 26, 2018

How Much Should You Tell Your Therapist

For the first time, I am being seen by a therapist I really like, but I almost stopped going to see him because I was worried about him. I am deeply sensitive and observe people from their talk, walk, body language what ever they give me and I knew he wasn't happy. (He doesn't hide his mood very well.) How could he when he sees 7-8 people per day telling him their problems?
We spent time discussing my needs one day and it all turned out really well. What I really didn't want was to start over with a new therapist.

Anyhow, now I am debating about telling him something I am not proud of doing. I am old enough to know better, and I know he won't judge, but I am ashamed, and I have to decide if I am going to tell him or not. Unloading would feel good and I should share it- but will I feel worse afterwards?

I can be so critical of myself.
My emotions just don't come out the way
they should when I am this angry with you.

No surprise when I recently
became vulnerable and blurted out:
    "You broke my heart." 
(Not to you, but to someone else.)
I have many things to say to you,
and each one was as important as the next.
I doubt you will ever understand how I feel.

(Even Pinterest can't come up with any quotes about this situation.)


Fire and Ice   Original Art by CBJ  



#have the conversation    #pinterest    

                                                       #speak your mind     #be strong   #tell the truth
                                 
                                                       #hurting  #artist  #love  #therapist





Tuesday, April 10, 2018

Old Friends

I can't say enough about the importance of old friends.

I am often questioning everything in my life... but not when an old friend checks in.

Laurie and I were all of 19 when we met. I came to the college via my dad's desire to go to the college he wanted me to go to.

Laurie came from a religious family who wanted her to come to the small liberal arts college because of it's religious grounding.

As friends we had our opinions about everything and could talk for hours. We simply "clicked."
We were never roomies, but we delighted in bumping into each other in the dorm hallway and talking about our daily life as if it were the biggest news ever. I couldn't imagine life without her. But, I had to transfer to a different university to get the credits I needed to be a certified teacher.

Yet we have maintained our friendship for over 40 years.

So when she sent me a birthday card today, I sighed, and the years melted away. We were back as
friends picking play fights and calling each other by our last names. Who knew our friendship would last this long?


Monday, April 2, 2018

Depression and Crying

I am not a morning person. In fact THIS morning was especially hard. It had snowed last night (April 2nd) in spring and I was struggling just to get dressed due to a bad back.

But there I was 9:05 sharp (I joke!) and I was in the waiting room for my THERAPY appointment.
He came to the door and let me in and we greeted each other.

By 9:10 a.m. we re-capped my last visit and the tears began to slowly drip to my cheeks.

What he was saying wasn't all that emotional-- but for someone to express how much they appreciate my honesty, it was EMOTIONAL. I think people who cry are really letting out years of stifled emotions. In the past I had to "accept" things as the were, accept childhood bulling, pretend their verbal abuse didn't matter, look like I was learning from criticism, and more than anything, hide my self-esteem issues.

But all of these things did come out.  My over-eating was so gratifying. No one would notice a extra slice of pie. I was ashamed of myself at 125lbs and in grade school. The kids made all kinds of fun of me, they call it bullying now. One teacher bent down at my desk one day and attempted to discuss my eating problems. Humiliating, although I didn't know the word or it's meaning at the time.

I blamed my parents for letting me get so out of control for many years. I was angry at them. But they had their own lives and my weight-control was just one more thing I felt I had to do on my own with
NO TOOLS or guidance to solve this bigger problem. I was also expected to get good grades, be respectful, stay with the college bound good kids (I didn't by high school.) Never lie about where I was, and never ever do any experimenting. I felt like a bird in a cage. The weight problem & anxiety continued.

Then suddenly, one teacher I really liked in high school asked me to go to a diet class with her. I lost 80 pounds, while she dropped out about week 4. I was admired by both of my parents and I would be ready to go to college a slimmer version of myself. It didn't last.

What always lasted was the pain of not knowing how or what to do about myself. Thank God, my artistic talent which was identified early, and being friends with some "key" popular kids helped me to fight off some of the ones who bullied me. When I was in grade school there was a trick where people flipped the initials of your first and last name. My last name, was similar to Brush, so I became "Crusher." So you can imagine what a I painfully endured for several years from the boys. I can still hear them saying "Here comes the Crusher."

So it wasn't really a surprise when the tears came out this morning.


                       


#artist  #depression
#quilts




Wednesday, March 28, 2018

Why Don't They Just Come Out and Say It?



There are prejudices that are talked about often, but there are silent killers as well.

It's the eye of  "stranger" who wonders why the parents don't do something.

The "driver" behind me who knows when it is safe to turn left. Jesus!

The "grumpy old man" who says "I want you to get out of my way!"

The "woman" who wonders and rolls her eyes, how did the woman in the scooter get so FAT?

"Those" who don't understand what "happened" to your health and mental health.


Invest in yourself people.

Make sure your thoughts don't come out of your mouth.




Cathy Jeffers Wool Felting


                                                           


Tuesday, March 20, 2018

Do You Have a Plan?


I've been there. That one thing you said, when the therapist suddenly sits up in a chair and asks  "Do you have a plan?"

For those who may not know how this question goes, it's when the therapist starts to ask you some really tough questions about your level of depression and do you have a plan for self-harm?  For those of us on the other side of the desk, it's sort of baffling. Not only had we wandered into "uh-oh-land" we were now suppose to spill the truth, make something up on the spot, or walk out of the office in tears.

It seems like this is the point where if the therapist had an emergency button at their side, they would have pushed it. But now here comes the test, a good therapist, the one that you have developed a strong relationship with will be able to tell if this is a serious threat, or your sharing of a very private pain that got you to their office in the first place. In many cases, it is a break-through moment.

I probably needed a therapist for my depression since the summer I was thirteen. I didn't know I needed a therapist, but my depression ran deep. My obstacle at the moment was that as an eight grader moving on to high school I was totally afraid of the transition. My parents encouraged me to go to high school night orientation, but I refused acting like it wasn't something I would be interested in. I was deep into my rebellious stage and high school didn't seem like a good time.

I should add that I was highly creative and artistic at this time. I was taking extra art classes outside of school because I couldn't get enough art. My avenues were Saturday classes at the art institute and an afterschool program that I attended three days per week. I wasn't sure what the connection was-- but I thrived on art. One day, while at the afterschool art program I felt like my emotions were raw. I had never felt such pain in my heart. (No one had told me it came from my head.) My artwork had become very dark. I expressed myself with many mediums, but I could never be that girl artist where life is about daisies. I created what my head and heart were feeling. There was also a boy. He was going to a different high school and I was broke up about this.

Fast forward to my high school days an you would have seen two of me. I was terribly over weight, and self conscious so I couldn't excel in any sports. None of the clubs appealed to me and my popular friends that I had known all my life now bored me. I and had to make all new friends in high school. I was both an introvert and an extrovert, laughing with my new friends and feeling isolated, ashamed, and self-conscious. Along with my art, I started  to write, poetry, plays and some journalism. But my art was now really something special, and I was winning contests, and had earned state-wide recognition with it.

At the age of nineteen, my parents had me hospitalized because I was shaking so much. I had developed a tremor, but know one knew why. My dad was on a mission to see if I was taking street drugs, and if that was causing the problem. I saw a neurologist, who couldn't find anything wrong, so he suggested I see a psychiatrist. My parents didn't believe in psychiatry so the offer laid on the table.
Many years later my doctors would discover a possible connection between my tremors and  nearly dying at birth due to having the cord around my neck.  The jury is still out, they say I need an autopsy.

I decided I wanted to become an art teacher in college and so went on to get an undergraduate and graduate degree in art teaching. I loved college, I knocked out all of the requirements at community college and at a liberal arts college until landing at a good university for art and teacher training.

In graduate school I heard of free therapy by graduate students. I went a few times to check it out.
For my evaluation process I was asked to do timed puzzles.  One was a child-like puzzle of an elephant. I couldn't figure out what the object was, but I did the puzzle based on shapes, so managed to do it fine anyhow, then flipped the whole puzzle around and showed to the student-therapist.

Things didn't go so well with this student therapist. I was very uncomfortable with all the tinted windows for observing the student and patient in therapy. I remember the male therapist had bright red hair and a reddish complexion. I don't know how far along we were into our sessions, but one day he asked me if I was interested in him. He asked me how I would act if I ran into him on campus and
I said "Say Hello?" After that weirdness, I didn't go to any other sessions.

I finally graduated and was pretty happy with a new job working in an art museum, and new experiences half-way across the country. My mind was always on work, and I was down a little, but my diet was better, and my anxiety was inching in, but not fully charged. I loved my independence, my new friends, and life was good, until two things happened. One was my dad died in the summer of my second year on my own and when I returned to work after the funeral, a few weeks later, I was laid off.  I had to leave my happy little world of art museum teaching and a warmer climate, to head home.

When I returned home, I was naturally unhappy about being out of work. I wasn't finding anything, and it was getting difficult to do well since my identity was clearly tied to my images of myself as an art teacher. I preferred working with younger children so I pieced together a work life of teaching at  three different locations. It was a lot of fun at first, but I soon learned that teaching art, and hauling art supplies from place to place from the back of my car wasn't for me. It wasn't until almost a year later that I found something M-F at a Catholic School.

My mood was changing, I was now 32 and had never had a real boyfriend so I wanted to work on some type of love life. That was slow going for me. I finally made and appointment to see a therapist to talk to him about my current stage in life, needing a companion, wanting a better job, and much more. Back in the 70's and early eighties, a teacher often could not get hired if you had any type of mental health problems. They asked about this on job applications, so I had to tell myself I was just going for career planning. I even made an appointment with an out of town therapist just in case someone were to see me at his office.

His office was in a larger building with lots of private offices and few signs. When I finally found the new therapist, I was relieved that I was going to get to talk to someone openly about every I had on my mind. He met me in the outer waiting room and oddly looked me over head to toe as he asked me my name. I gave him my name and he escorted me into his office. We sat down together, and I expected him to give me paperwork to fill out. Instead, he did something I would have never dreamed of doing. He looked me straight in the eye and said, "I can't see you. You are overweight and you have no will power, and I won't treat someone like you!"  This was the ugliest conversation I had ever had with a professional, and once again, I left in tears, and never saw another therapist for about five years. What this caused was a severe delay in me getting any help.

Well, I finally found steady work and was married and had two children. For years there was a lot of good family time and I cared other women's children besides my own. I progressed and finally found meaningful work. Things didn't work out as well as I had hoped and now I have many physical health issues

So now, I have seen the same therapist for two years.  I don't think he would mind me describing him as an old hippie. He is decent and he has never been so shook up to ask me "Do I have a plan?" That's what a good therapist relationship feels like. So if by chance I was asked about my plan, I can honestly say yes, thanks to medication and keeping my mind busy and challenged making my art that I dearly love, I can say, my plan is to keep making art because it helps me process my emotions and thoughts and boy does my head get stuck in repetitive, negative thinking sometimes. My challenge is to learn to live feeling okay about myself.

#artist blog  #do you have a plan?  #therapy  #be strong   #mental health  #community  #picking a good therapist







Saturday, March 10, 2018

People in my Life

There comes a time in my life when I really do get to pick my friends.

I am never alone.
 But I pick being alone often.

I get to say who I want to be with when I do go out. 

I have dropped many people from my life. But the last two days have been good. Old friends have resurfaced.
Turns out they were going through stuff at the same time I was too.

It's not easy being the mom and dad to two young boys.
It's not easy being in "love" with someone who doesn't feel the same way.
I was that person who didn't understand why people never had time for me.
Then I changed. I began to understand the importance of acceptance. 
People don't leave your life out of something that has gone array. 
People are the same as you. Finding themselves in a world with
work to be done--- and in my case art to be created.

I am deeply committed to finding peace now.
I wouldn't yell or speak my mind in a hateful way-- I would
just walk away.
You can't hurt me now- I wouldn't let it get that far.
The CLUES are always there. I just don't plan to ignore them.

For that I am grateful.




Sunday, February 25, 2018

Dodging Compliments


Dear Depressionheads,

Does this ever happen to you or am I the only one?

The last few days, I branched out of my inner world and interacted with more than a few people. I found it interesting to accept compliments. 

Thursday: I take a watercolor painting class and the teacher is seeing me struggle. It's harder than it looks to control the water and the paint and not make a muddy mess.  I interacted with my classmates and my teacher and she is really being kind to keep me after class to demonstrate some techniques. My go-to emotion is "how bad I am at painting"- even though it was only my third class.

Friday: I went to a large art conference and ran into several people I know. I went be myself and sat alone, but many other artists, teachers, and friends passed by to greet me. One, a woman who had helped me out in my former classroom, asked me how I was feeling. When I told her I had yet another surgery, she was very sympathetic. "No more surgery!"  She hugged me and said she loved me. I sat speechless and thought she doesn't even know me-- how can she love me?

Saturday: I went to a small craft show to sell my quilts, felting, and fabric bowls. I was happy to get nice compliments about the work, but dodged these words,  One woman said I was "Awesome." Someone is saying that about me? I had just met her an hour or so ago.

The hosts of the event placed me by the front entrance because they said I did such a nice job of greeting people. This all seems so out of place for me. I struggle accepting compliments.


Trying to decide if my depression is really gone?  How do I see these two images?  Which is the real me? The positive one (right) or the negative one (left)?  We SHOULD all to better at this.

#who am I?    #self image   #artist    #depression   #accepting compliments  #mental health


#can you accept a compliment?




Monday, February 19, 2018

Emotionally Charged


As emotionally charged as my last post was, and also long winded, I need to post an update.

There is wisdom in speaking up and trying to defend yourself. I left many of the details out of my last post, so maybe it was hard to understand why I was so motivated to do something, but, trust me there was a lot to my surgery difficulties. Most people would have just said that was bad and put it behind them, I couldn't. I was very disappointed by my medical care. I was suffering from the carelessness of a medical hospital I trusted and a doctor recommended to me by another doctor to repair my shoulder. My surgeon seems to be running a production line of patients in and patients out. I was the "odd" one they missed. Not to be overly dramatic, but I can't help but wonder what would have happened had the missing anti-depressants drugs been for the heart and not just for my brain? Both the hospital and the doctor miss my other  medical issue stated in my records. In an era of data technology, it turns out someone needs to read the medical records too. My trust of doctors will be forever changed and I have to say, my doctors for the most part have been wonderful.

So with my letter in hand from the hospital stating what the investigation found, and a personal letter to the doctor in hand, I expected us to have a discussion about the problems last week. My doctor refused to even look at the letters, and said he had already been told. He made another alarming remark to me and then things went down hill from there. I assumed he would discuss my problems but suddenly walked out of my exam room and I didn't know what to think. Was he discharging me and was I never to return?

I dropped off copied letters with the office manager and spoke to several people in the office briefly.
I asked why I couldn't at least get an apology from the doctor when things were so clearly messed up.
They said they could not make the doctor do anything because he paid their salary.

The very next day at dinner time, my doctor's assistant called to talk about what had happened because she was unaware of the situation and that she and the doctor had just read the letters (finally)
and they talked about it and she said she and the doctor wanted to apologize.

There was much resistance by me, but I thanked her for the apology. Then, she tried to get me to return to their office for follow up care. I said I was blown away by the doctor's attitude and had never been treated so badly by a doctor. I will probably find a different doctor after all of this, but I am not certain.

What I learned from this was to never give up. Expect that the medical team treats you with respect and even though your medical history including allergies is on file, repeat it to them verbally.
In my letter, I cited three examples of my doctor dismissing my concerns and making a joke of them.

Mental Illness needs to be supported by all doctors. Remember you have the right to question your care plan and give yourself a supportive environment.

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#mental illness    #medical care   #depression   #medical records    #patient relations   #apology








Monday, February 12, 2018

I have Depression: Now Watch Me




It is embarrassing that men and women in the medical field are truly ignorant of treating people with Anxiety and Depression.

There is no excuse.

As promised, I can finally tell my recent medical story.
The story is true and is what I feared, there was no computer error!

After a through investigation, the hospital where I had my surgery, wrote me a two page letter of apology.

It was November 15, 2017 and I had a shoulder replacement surgery. I live alone so I told the doctor I would need to go to a rehab center to recover because I couldn't care for myself.
He acted like that was unnecessary, but finally agreed.

Two major concerns: I have an extreme allergy to the surgical tape that they use.  It is in my medical records and it becomes more severe after each surgery that I have.
It didn't matter. My orthopedics doctor used some form of tape to cover my incision and I broke out with a rash similar to a really bad sun burn. I told the doctor about this reaction and he said "I am the doctor and I know about rashes." "I am like the insurance company commercial where they have seen it all."
My only thought is "what a jerk you are!"
There is more. 
This same doctor allowed his medical assistant to discontinue my
depression medication when I was discharged from the hospital to go to the rehab center.
After a few days I was crying four and five times a day. I would cry in therapy gym, in my hospital room, and in front of my nurses who were trying to console me. I developed insomnia, and would be unable to lay in bed due to pain. I was unable to rest for the entire time I was in rehab. Heck, this insomnia haunted me for nearly two months after my surgery
Remember, I'm also having a severe allergic reaction too.
Since the surgery required the removal of my shoulder bones and a metal plate drilled in place for my shoulders and arm to have contact, I thought my tears were due to extreme pain. Only one day, I felt slightly better and I asked the nurses if I was getting my depression medication.
They told me no, that I didn't have any schedule.
I was extremely angry. I had taken my depression medication for years. They had forced me to go off of it cold turkey.
I called my family doctor and my mental health practitioner and
they both confirmed that I was indeed on this medication.
The nurses at the rehab center we able to get me back on my medication. Thanks to the nurses.
The nurse practitioner at the rehab center came into my room with a handful of prescriptions and apologized.
Two of the nurse supervisors and the director also apologized to me. I was put into a medicine withdrawal for nearly a week.
I see my doctor on Wednesday for a final visit and I plan to speak up. This treatment was done with negligence, stupidity
and arrogance.
I use to put those with medical training on a pedestal.
No longer do, I don't even feel like I want to trust them.
I wouldn't wish this experience on any one.

I reported the problem to the patient relations and talked to the administrator who took my grievance report.
This was the stuff I will continue to fight for.
How can we educate people about depression?
It is my right to go into a hospital and have my medical history honored, to be treated with respect, and to be treated as if my depression medication was as necessary as any other drug being administered.
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#medication withdrawal    #doctor is negligent    #excuse me  

#artist     #no excuses    #medical negligence    #train doctors to know about depression


 #smart people and depression    #depressionheads    




                                                         Painting by Cathy Jeffers  2017









Thursday, February 1, 2018

The Plan


I sometimes feel like my life is like
a slow dance.
For me my art has been the timing and the rhythm
that allows me to show what's
in my head and create it with my hands.
I slip in and out of the materials I love to touch.
I experienced clay, then sculpture, then my beloved fabric.
Yes, there is a texture to my fabric,
because I placed it there.

Now my mind and art are the partners.
One is graceful and one can barely keep a beat.
But they are learning from each other.
The confidence of the creation is energizing.

So why am I so sad?
Because each failure left its
 impression.
Each angry word made me cry.
All the insults made me ball up and
want to hide.
Feeling unwanted by so many,
feeling shamed by those around me
caused me to turn within.

Who could protect my fears?
Had anyone notice my darkest thoughts?
Didn't you notice when I sat alone?
I was smart enough, but I didn't feel it.
Those emotions were raw.

Easy enough to say that is all
in the past and move on,
but my "foundation" was cracked.

Now, I strive to build "me" from the ground up.
I will need to be the architect, the engineer and the 
creative mind to invigorate this new landmark.
I will create a new me using my own specifications.

I will not follow-the PLAN--- I will lead it.

Fire and Ice by Cathy Jeffers
_________________________________________________

#life plan  #goals  #aging  #artist  #planning

#community  #life   #quilt   #emotions

Monday, January 15, 2018

Some of My Quilts Make Me Laugh


I became an art teacher because I admired my art teachers.
Too bad I didn't have a "real" artist to admire.
My life might have been different.

Anyhow,

If loving ART is wrong, I don't want to be RIGHT...

At lease some of them make me LAUGH OUT LOUD!

-Cathy Jeffers, Artist

Cats Jumping Over the Moon

Pig

Poppy Cat 

Cooper

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Original Art Quilts by Cathy Jeffers. Do not copy or share image without permission.
depressionheads@gmail.com

#art  #art for sale  #laugh  #animal art  #art quilts  #animal lover  #animal images



Sunday, January 7, 2018

Hello UK


Time to Change- A UK organization is doing a lot for mental health. I hope you will check out this site.

 https://www.time-to-change.org.uk/category/blog/depression

2017 A-Do and 2018-- Get it DONE


I don't know about you, but winter is a real pain. Two mild ones in a row '16, most of '17 and then wham Ice Bucket Season.

This means I shop on a day I can manage to get out and then hibernate like a mamma bear on the other days. Only this mamma bear is feeling a lot of pain.

Arthritis, nerve, muscle, bones... I could go on.

But wait? Didn't I just have another surgery?
The jury is still out on the hospital's respond to my complaint. But here is a big HINT-----> I will never go to the hospital again without my depression medications safely stored somewhere safe in my bag.

I know, they tell you to leave all medications at home, but it happened to me and it could happen to you. A sudden drug crash is not the best way to re-cooperate. Sadly, I can't say more right now.

Image result for depression medication
Trust your gut feeling. If you think something doesn't feel right, chances are you are right. Feeling unsteady on your feet, crying, not speaking clearly, headaches, or any other unusual sign of medication withdrawal, can have harming effects. Be an advocate for yourself and speak up.  
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#advocate   #depression   #medication  #withdrawal  #hospitals   # seek help    #speak up     #self harm